Cantarella
by SeraSearaSpin
Summary: Cantarella - A poison derived from arsenic. In large enough doses, it is fatal. There are many reasons to use Cantarella, and none of them are good. The albino knows this. AU, rated T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**Based off that vocaloid song. Do I have to say this is a crossover with vocaloid, since it's the same plot, but different characters? *shrug* I'll leave it as just Hetalia until future notice.**

**Song belongs to Kurousa-P. However, there are many different versions of the song's meaning. I'm going to base this off of AilishMelodien's version, because endings without incest or rape are the best! :D So credit to both of them.**

**I'm not used to doing short chapters. Oh well, time to squeeze in an incredible amount of detail for each...**

**Review! :D**

* * *

She looked in the mirror, and her face stared back, surrounded in curly brown ringlets. It was getting dark outside, like a shade of dusky velvet glittering with diamonds, and the wicks of the candles that illuminated her room were yet to be lit. The dress laced up around her torso was almost too tight, and she plucked at the black silk. She didn't like to wear dresses, but this was a special occasion.

It was a nice dress, laced up in the back, and a lacy fringe at the bottom. Pearls lined the edge of the square-cut neckline, and the stays on the front were edged with silver. But she especially loved the way the skirt dropped straight down, flattering her slimmer figure, and then swished out in a curve of silk. A beautiful dress. Her best friend had given it to her, and she admired his taste, even if she would never admit it to him.

She reached to the ornate box on her nightstand, opened it, and the mask stared back up at her. Black and green, to match her eyes and the dress, given to her by her lover. It was comfortable, and had the remarkable ability to cling to her face despite the lack of strings. It was a masquerade ball, after all, and the masks were absolutely required. She didn't know why. She didn't much care for the rules of the palace, but now that she was the age she was, she had to wear the dresses and skirts and jewelry in the form of emerald-studded silver bangles clinking musically on her wrist.

With one slender hand, she picked up the mask, turned it over, and slipped it onto her face. She was ready at last.

Her footsteps echoed down the empty hall, bringing her ever closer to the doors that glowed from beneath with light. The shoes she was wearing matched the dress, but were treacherously unstable. She wondered how she could ever dance in them, but put the thought aside. If all else failed, she could just remove them.

She could hear the orchestra, hear the music, and before she knew it, her hands were braced against the heavy door, fingers resting in the thick metal rings. And then, with barely a touch, they were open.

The music and the light exploded out and engulfed her in a cloud of sensation. She could smell the layered scents of perfume, see the brightly colored flares of dresses spinning to the beat, and for a moment she wondered if she should turn around and flee, a black crocus among the bright wildflowers. This was no place for her.

Then she saw him, her best friend since childhood, dancing fluidly with a woman in a yellow dress. Catching sight of her, he politely made his excuses and came to her.

"Would the prettiest girl here like to dance with me?" he teased, and held out his pale hand, smiling. She accepted, tolerating his teasing as always, placing her hand in his. And she too was whirled away into the music with her red-eyed friend.

And they danced away the night, danced until the sun rose.

* * *

**See? I told you it was short...*resists urge to make it longer* **


	2. Chapter 2

**So while I was typing this, my mom walked up to me and assaulted me with a plum. Sadly, the plum died by mastication. And then my mom decides to tell me she gave me the plum because when she ate some they gave her diarrhea. *spits out plum* **

**Review! :D**

* * *

Gilbert watched them through the window, Elizaveta and Roderich, the woman he loved, and the man he hated. It was so _unfair. _He'd known her since childhood, and his feelings had grown from there. It was his best-kept secret, the one that kept him up at night, rolling through the silken pillow sheets.

Outside, Elizaveta leaned her head into Roderich's chest, and the Austrian smiled down on her and lightly kissed her forehead.

His face betraying no emotion, he turned and walked away, a decision having been made. It was final. A choice made after weeks and months of toying with it, a plan crafted from his jealous thoughts and desires. He'd whittled away at it in his spare time, carving off the unnecessary edges and peeling away his typical flair for the dramatic until he had a cold hard spear. And then it was only a matter of deciding to use it.

_You don't have the nerve_, jeered his negative side, the side whose voice sounded remarkably like a certain Austrian's.

_Shut up._ _I can do this._

He turned away from the window, hot fury boiling in his veins.

"S-Sir?"

If looks could kill, the one Gilbert offered to the young servant who'd tiptoed up behind him would've disintegrated the poor boy on the spot. As it was, it made the other leap, and then cower slightly behind the paper he was holding as if it could protect him from the incendiary effects of the heated glare. "What is it?" snapped the albino. "What do you want?"

"Eh...sir, M-Miss Elizaveta wishes to invite you to her..." his voice, already a whisper, trailed off into silence.

"Her what?" Gilbert snapped, a dreadful feeling uncurling inside him. The servant just shivered, blue eyes downcast, heedless of the bright red eyes boring into his skull. "Speak up, _Weichei_, before I have you locked up for impeding a lord."

The servant squeaked as if he'd been kicked and hastily resumed, albeit with more stuttering. "H-her wedding, s-sir. She's in-invited you to her w-wedding tomorrow."

_Her wedding._ "Her wedding," Gilbert repeated out loud, and then said it again, slowly, tasting the words as they came off his tongue. "Her wedding." He said it with a measured pace, overly calm. _She's getting married to him. That bastard._

The servant backed up, but not quick enough. The albino leaped forwards in a flash of movement, his hands around the small blond's throat. "Is that what she said? Are you certain?"

Whimpering, the boy held up the paper as if it were a shield. Gilbert released him, ignoring him as he slumped to the ground behind him. He was intent on the invitation as he strode down the hall. In plain, slightly curled sans serif script, it read simply, 'Miss Elizaveta Hedervary invites Gilbert Beilschmidt to her wedding to Roderich Edelstein, scheduled tomorrow at sundown.'

Walking into his rooms, where at last he could have some privacy, he re-re-re-read the invitation, branding the information to the back of his skull before peeling off his black gloves and thrusting the letter and his clenched fist into the lantern flame.

He didn't make a sound as the paper burnt, and as the skin burnt as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Moon Festival is great! I love it! *devours another moon cake* **

**Review! :D**

* * *

He couldn't _not_ go. He'd considered it, but for only a second. Aside from everything, they were still best friends. He wouldn't insult her by not showing up. He wasn't that kind of man.

At sundown the next day, his burnt hand safely encased in his customary black gloves, he stood, trying to smile and not look as sick as he felt. Elizaveta had invited him to stand behind her, the 'best man', was it? And he couldn't very well refuse her that request. It was her wedding, for crying out loud, and as much as he loved her, he wouldn't ruin her special day.

With Roderich. The one person on all of this earth that he hated. A memory drifted up, unbidden.

_Gilbert was sitting on bench, talking to Elizaveta. They were on the cusp of adulthood, the last golden time. They weren't talking about much in particular, and it wasn't the subject that mattered to him anymore. Just sitting there, leaning against each other in the cool shade, and speaking about all the things that weren't important and yet really were. He was happy, then, sitting with their shoulders bumping up against each other and their hands on top of each other, and the world seemed full of light and hope._

_Roderich appeared, walking in the garden, and the albino paid him no heed, though he could feel Elizaveta sit up a little straighter and smooth her hair back with one hand. The Austrian stopped walking in front of them, his violet eyes fixed on his friend as if he were a snake, captivating a...Gilbert didn't know. Something beautiful and fierce at the same time. "Well, hello, Elizaveta." _

_She looked down, coyly pulling a strand of hair in front of her face with the hand that had been resting on the albino's. He tried not to show that he resented that. He'd barely interacted with the other during his childhood, appearing now and then to attempt to humiliate the other._

_"Come with me," said the brunette, and Elizaveta inclined her head, casting one last look back at him before leaving his life._

Not to mention that the other was a snide bastard, who took the opportunity to rub his wealth in the albino's face every chance he could. He couldn't understand why Elizaveta was interested in him, much less wanted to _marry_ him.

He glanced over at her, resplendent in her white satin. She looked radiant, standing next to Roderich, her emerald eyes glowing, and that flower in her hair looking freshly plucked and cleaned. He'd given it to her, when the old clip wore out, and she'd laughed and kissed him on the cheek, which stopped his brain for a little.

And now it was used to hold the veil back from her face while the priest married them.

He looked away, and then looked back at her. The orange rays of the fading sunlight made her skin glow in a way that made his breath catch, and it played along the lines in the fabric as if slipping in water. She'd never looked more beautiful than she did now, though he'd cut out his tongue before admitting it to her.

"...You may kiss the bride." And Roderich did, and Gilbert did his best to smile and look happy and applaud, while inside his heart was breaking.

After the ceremony, during the nighttime festivities, he approached Roderich, with the intent of pretending to offer his best wishes. He couldn't do it for real, but he could certainly try. For all his faults, the albino would not skimp on formalities when it came to anything and anyone concerning Elizaveta. Seeing Roderich drinking to a toast with several people, his mind lit up.

Elizaveta had retired to her rooms early, no doubt waiting for her husband to return.

That left the albino with plenty of time to finish him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Review! :D**

* * *

The party went on into the night. By then, his burnt hand was stinging, but he had to keep the glove on over it, at least for a little longer.

He considered going to visit Elizaveta and try and congratulate her -_I love you so much-_ but decided against it as well. He didn't need her face to guilt him out of the plan he wielded. Summoned unbidden, the green-eyed image floated in his mind, and he blinked her face away. He had a job to get to.

Against his will, her face floated back up to him, and he sighed. _I might as well._ He veered towards the cheerful crowd around the Austrian, snagging a glass of champagne on the way. He was just in time; the other's friends were proposing a toast. "To your happy marriage!" one man crowed, and the glasses were raised high. Another man, a blond with long hair added "And to your lovely new wife's _magnifique_ pair of-"

The albino was there, suddenly, gloved hand clamped over the other's mouth. When the others turned to give him looks of astonishment, he offered a close-lipped smile and raised his glass, almost sarcastically. He would _not_ tolerate these innuendos towards her. She was an angel, _perfekt. _A beautiful, alluring, frying-pan wielding angel. She did not deserve to be talked about this way.

Before releasing his grip, he tilted his glove up to the right angle, letting a small stream of cantarella flow from its niche just above the pad of his thumb into the other's drink. _You do not deserve to live. _He returned the blond's drink with a false smile. ''A toast."

Still a bit distrustful, the blond clinked his glass against the others, amber liquid sparkling in the lamplight. He would die soon.

The albino swallowed half the contents in one go. It was good champagne.

Roderich looked ready to go up to his wife. It was late. Even Gilbert, a frequent partier, was getting tired. The Austrian discreetly made his goodbyes and headed for the hall.

_Now is the time to act._ Gilbert veered towards him, glass in hand. Hearing his footsteps, the brunette turned around. "Oh, it's you." Roderich said flatly. 'What do you want?''

The albino pressed his hand to his heart. "You wound me. I just wanted to give the two of you my best wishes." His voice dropped to a more serious level. "Treat her right.''

The other nodded, and then a superior smirk came onto his face. "You know she doesn't mention you anymore. And when she begins to, it's always negatively."

Inside his gloves, he clenched his fists. He tried to play it off. "Yeah, sure, kick me when I'm down." However, his voice lacked its usual sarcasm. On the inside, the albino was a boiling pool of rage. He was services away from lashing out at the arrogant, unawesome man. Instead, he sighed.

"She will never willingly take you,"said the Austrian smugly.

"Whatever you say, Roderich." He _really _didn't want to have this conversation right now.

The brunette walked down the halls, bathed in shadow the further he got from the bright lights of the festivities. Silent as a ninja, Gilbert credit after him, reaching into an inside pocket in his trousers. Oblivious, the Austrian walked on, until he came to a place where the lamps were out. It was pitch black, dark marble floor perfectly colored to hide any stray drops of blood. The steady footsteps slowed, hesitating just for a moment with that human instinct, _beware the dark, _and that was when Gilbert struck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Review! :D**

* * *

The Austrian left the party content, and more than a little drunk. He couldn't wait to go up to Elizaveta's chambers and lie with his wife, proving their marriage. His mind full of lovely thoughts of her and him and them together all slurred together and he smiled. _Soon, my love._

Even better, that annoying man Gilbert would know for sure that she was far out of his reach. He wasn't sure if the other was being sincere when he'd offered hsi congratulations, and had retaliated as he normally would. The thought of the pain in the other's red eyes during the ceremony almost made him laugh. Yes, he was twisted, but the albino just rubbed him the wrong way.

The hallway ahead was dark, but Roderich knew just beyond the patch of inky blackness lay Elizaveta's room.

The first the Austrian knew of his plight was the barely audible rush of displaced air in the dark hallway. He started to turn around, a weight threw him forwards, and then suddenly he was on his hands and knees, his glasses lost to the Stygian surroundings. He sucked in a breath as a hand encased in a smooth glove yanked his head backwards, baring his throat.

Using a well of strength he didn't know he had, Roderich threw off his assailant, backing into a wall and feeling the person give behind him with a soft _oomph._ Ignoring the fact that his vision was irrevocably blurred by both drink and lack of glasses, he sprinted for the patch of gold light that indicated the party. He would never lead any potential murderer to Elizaveta.

His legs straining, he pushed himself towards the doors. _Why oh why did I choose the time the palace was the emptiest to go? Why didn't I walk with Lord and Lady Zwingli? Better to put up with Vash's disapproving looks than this..._

Out of the corner of his vision, he saw a black specter racing towards him, and he suddenly came to the realization that he wasn't going to make it. The light was too far away, he wasn't fast enough...

The shadow knocked into him, and the fist collided with his ribs, feeling like a sucker punch. For the second time, the Austrian was flattened to the ground. His ribs twanged in the rhythm of his racing heart, and he struggled feebly with the force that pinned his arms and legs to the cold black marble. Out of the corner of his eye, he could glimpse the gloves holding his arm down. Black, with a thin silver pattern in scratchy thread. They looked familiar, but his head was ringing too much to place them.

He was dimly aware of rope being tied around his arms, and he was hauled unsteadily to his feet, head hanging in defeat. _Why would anyone kidnap me?_ he wondered. _I'm not the richest, nor the one with the most influence in the court..._Not once did the Austrian consider it was for personal reasons. The court of King Arthur didn't work that way.

He stumbled over his own feet as he was led down a dark hallway. Whenever he tried to turn around to see his kidnapper, he was shoved brutally forwards. His ribs were screaming in pain, and his head was throbbing right above his eyebrow. He felt weaker with each step. He was a sorry sight.

Finally, he was abandoned in the darkness. Someone lit a candle in front of him, and feeling no leading tug from the rope, he dared to look up, which took almost all his energy.

It was Gilbert, head inclined so the mask that he'd worn to the masquerade the other night shadowed those piercing red eyes. Roderich was shocked. "G-Gilbert? Why?" His voice was faint and had a strange, wheezing gurgle to it. He wondered if it had to do with his ribs.

Gilbert said nothing, just pointed at his ribs. Roderich slowly looked down, to where the the albino's gloved finger pointed, and was shocked to find a dark red stain blooming across his violet suit. There was a short silver knife buried up to the hilt in his chest. For a moment, he didn't comprehend the sight, but realization slowly dawned on him._The punch to the ribs...was not a punch after all._

"I see you've managed to impale yourself on my toothpick!" said Gilbert in a tone that reminded the Austrian of Lord Braginski, a man who was known for his terrifyingly cheerful manner. "It's a shame," continued the albino conversationally, "that you so brutally killed yourself on your wedding day. You must not have loved her very much after all..."

"Wha-I didn't-don't-"

Gilbert shook his head disapprovingly. "You were supposed to be the smart one, Roddy."

The violet-eyed man tensed at the mention of his hated childhood nickname. "What do you want?"

The albino continued as if he hadn't heard. " When the sun rises, your darling, precious wife will notice your absence from her chambers. She'll go a bit down the hallway to your room, and find the door locked. Then she will begin to worry."

"You want her. My Elizaveta." The Austrian was surprised at how calm his voice was.

"Once the door has been battered down, she'll rush in, looking for her husband. After a short search, you will be discovered bare-chested on your bed, the word 'NEVER' carved into your chest with my handy dandy toothpick, and that expensive emerald ring of yours will be lying on the shores of the lake, two floors down."

"Y-you can't do this to me! There will be an investigation! A-"

"No, there won't be," the albino retorted icily. "King Arthur does not have the men to spare for such a simple thing as a man hating the idea of being married to his wife."

With a cold shock, Roderich realized he was right. Nobody would suspect foul play. _Nobody._

"Lastly, I'm going to have to kill you. You'd scream too much otherwise."

The Austrian began to protest, but Gilbert was quicker. He twisted the short knife in the other man's chest and then pulled it back, blood gushing from the wound. Careful not to stain his black jacket, he peeled the shirt and jacket and the stupid cravat off his enemy, who still sputtered weakly, with no energy to scream. He fished the cracked glasses from his pocket and placed them on the pale face.

"Careful now," cooed the albino. "You wouldn't want to make me err in my carving, would you?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Review! :D**

* * *

When the albino woke up, he didn't want to remember. _Elizaveta with Roderich...a perversion of nature. _It couldn't possibly be, except it was.

Then the door was flung open and a sobbing Elizaveta ran to his arms, trailing her long tangle of hair and the wide sleeves of her pale green nightdress. She buried her face in his, weeping uncontrollably, her eyes rimmed in red when she looked up at him with such despair in her eyes that it made his heart skip. Stunned and more than a little confused, he slowly moved to embrace her back. "What is it, Lizzie?"

"Roderich..." her voice caught in her throat in a choke, "...is dead."

And then the events of the last night came rushing back to him, as well as the feel of satisfaction for what he had done. _The arrogant little prick deserved it._ Yet he couldn't squelch the guilt he felt at having rendered the love of his life to heartbroken tears. Then he couldn't help but notice the warmth of her leaning against him, and the silken feel of her hair draped against his bare chest. He tried best to not let the flush creep up on his cheeks.

"Why?" she sobbed. "Why would anyone kill him? He has nothing of value, no influence...just _why!?"_

"Maybe," he said carefully, "somebody was jealous of him."

At that, she turned her tear-streaked face up towards him. "What do you mean?"

Now, with Elizaveta practically sitting on him, he was nearly speechless. "I...don't actually know..."

Normally she would've questioned him further, but now was a time for no words. She leaned her head against him, and he closed his eyes, wrapping both arms around her. He wanted...so many things, and it was torture to hold her so close and yet not have his feelings reciprocated. It was enough to tear anyone's soul in two.

Presently, he said, "I..I have to get dressed." _And wash the blood out of my favorite pair of gloves. _It was a miracle that Elizaveta hadn't noticed the suspicious red stain under the black fabric where it rested on his bedside table. Carving legible words into the Austrian's pale skin took a lot of energy, and he was already drained from the wedding ceremony, to say nothing of the fight. He'd staggered in as the sun was rising, stripped down to his underwear, flung the gloves on the table, and fallen into a dreamless sleep.

"Well, I'll stay in here with you then." Elizaveta drew his dark blue covers around her self like a shawl, closing her eyes and leaning back against the wall.

There was no way he could shoo her out, and he didn't really want to. It wasn't often she was as vulnerable as she was now, and he found it endearing, despite the circumstances. But he couldn't very well wash his gloves clean with her in here...but, conversely, he couldn't leave them as they were, still damp. If he did, the gloves would be ruined forever and, worse, positively _reek_ of blood.

He buttoned up a dark red shirt before pulling a black jacket on over that, and then, looking over his shoulder at Elizaveta, who still had her eyes closed, he made a split second decision. Gilbert walked over to the bed and picked up the gloves, laying a black tablecloth over his sparsely decorated nightstand to hide any remaining stains. He'd clean them up later.

Red tendrils drifted off the cloth as he plunged them into the sink. Austrian blood that would never really leave him alone.

From behind him, Elizaveta called, "What's that?" He heard the covers slide back as she started to get to her feet. _Oh no no no no, you can't come over here, you'll figure it out-_

"It's nothing!" he tried to say lightly. "You don't have to get up-"

But already she'd crossed half the room, and the sink was full of strings of blood. He quickly turned around to block the her view. "Um, seriously, it's nothing, just that I spilled a drink on my gloves and I wanted to get it out-"

Elizaveta came to a stop right in front of him, already looking better than she had just minutes ago. "You're acting awfully weird about this, Gilbert."

"Yes," he chattered, "Well, it's nothing."

She frowned and was about to look behind him when a servant came to the door. "Lady Hedervary, we need to, like, dress you for the funeral..." Seeing the expression on her face, he sighed. "It must totally suck, and I really, really feel for you, but we gotta do this." He stepped into the albino's rooms and grabbed her arm.

She allowed herself to be pulled out the door, her face as sad as anything. Gilbert tried for a reassuring smile, but judging from the twitch of her lips, he must've looked utterly ridiculous.

The room was empty once again.

With a sigh, the albino went back to washing his gloves. _Close call._

* * *

******By the way, I'm bad at this Romance thing...**


	7. Chapter 7

**Review! :D**

* * *

A few days passed, and his gloves were once again clean.

If only his conscience were as clean as that. He'd been kept up by the life Roderich and Elizaveta could have had, by the life he was soon to be not a part of. Pure and utter guilt, that was it. He'd cut it away cleanly with the word 'never' as a brand. The look in her green eyes carried nothing else but hurt, and though not directed at him, in his nightmares she screamed of betrayal and sliced NEVER into his chest.

He often woke up, deprived of his nightly oblivion, being driven out of dreamland by a vengeful Hungarian hurling words like spears. This was another such night, and he hadn't been able to sleep since he'd woken. He sighed and went to the balcony, where the moon showered down her silver rays on the gardens far below. The albino slid down the sculpted bars and leaned against them, hoping the light would purge his thoughts and finally allow him to sleep. He could put up with the chill of the night air for just one night of dreamless sleep.

A star zipped over head, cutting through the inky blackness. He quirked the corner of his mouth. _Good timing._ Then he closed those red eyes and wished his hardest for the nameless yearning down inside him. He wanted that feeling, to embrace that feeling, to be swimming in it, and it only dwindled even as he mentioned it. He tilted his head up without opening his eyes and thought of Elizaveta.

A sound woke him, the dull crunch of the balcony doors being opened. He sat up and looked, but his doors were closed. He stood, looking left and right, and then noticed the figure standing on the balcony three rooms down. By the way the moonlight shone off her graceful curves, he knew it was Elizaveta. She hadn't seen him.

She looked at the sky, her hands clasped tightly together, and then bowed her head, sending the moonlight rippling down the satiny fabric of her nightdress like it were water. The albino still thought she was the most beautiful woman ever, even disheveled from sleep and tears. The feeling in him swelled to a crescendo again.

He watched her, and she watched the stars, and he was at peace.

She sat up, seeming to have made a decision, and drowsily, he watched her hook a leg over the balcony rim, and then balance carefully on top of it.

The realization hit him. _No, don't jump, mein liebling. Nein..._

He turned and jumped, scrabbling at the worked stone of the next balcony before leaping again. Surely she had to hear him coming. He was far from silent, clumsily springing between balconies, but she never even looked his way. Instead, she spread her arms wide, and the material of her nightdress billowed out around her, looking for a moment like wings.

Then she leaned backwards. Her beautiful face seemed at peace, and Gilbert _knew_ that now was the chance.

He leaped for her, one hand stretched upwards, barely grasping the balcony's rim, and the rest of his body knocking her off course. He held her tight with his free arm as she sobbed and beat against him, but his fingers never slipped on the stone. They wouldn't _dare_.

Eventually she tired, and they hung suspended between heaven and earth. Until the albino said, "My arm is sore; if I lift you up, will you hold on?"

In answer, she reached upwards, slim fingers overlapping on top of his, and then proceeded to pull herself up. He didn't complain that she was crushing his fingers, he just wanted her to be safe.

She turned and offered a hand back, and he took it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Review! :D**

* * *

After the previous night's attempted suicide, Gilbert hadn't wanted to let her out of his sight. He made sure she went back to bed, with no detours, and then stood -or rather sat- guard over her, watching her sleep. When she was asleep, she looked so peaceful.

He sighed and looked away. _To her, I am only a concerned friend._

When morning came, he reluctantly traded her off to the servants come to lace her up into the dress for Roderich's funeral, and went back to his quarters to shower and change into his own black outfit.

The cold water invigorated his skin, and feeling freshly awake, he sighed, rubbed his face, and stepped into the typical somber clothing required for all funerals. After a while of sitting in his room and attempting to compose a eulogy for Roderich in case he was asked, he was ushered out into the hall, words coming together and floating apart in his head. He joined Elizaveta, who looked teary but composed. An impressive effort.

They shared a silent look before they joined the procession. Outside, it was cloudy and threatening rain, which fit the mood. But the albino couldn't help but heel exultant that his enemy was finally going to be dead and buried, no matter the consequences or what Elizaveta would think of him after. It was a deed worth doing, and he did it.

Of course, he wasn't going to express his real thoughts in the eulogy. He'd be exiled for sure, and -worse- be reviled by the love of his life. No, he'd concocted a mashup of memories and short, humorous anecdotes, concluding with the pure, utter truth. Disguised, of course, but still the truth.

They sat on the array of chairs that servants had brought out, and a man with hair almost as white as his and dark indigo eyes began speaking over the grave, blessing it or something. Gilbert didn't really care, but he put on his facade of sorrow so Elizaveta wouldn't move her hand from his arm.

Presently, he noticed a funny little curl on the side of the preacher's head, and watched it bounce up and down while the man talked. It reminded him of his brother's friend, who also had a curl like that. Maybe it was a trend. It brought humor to this event, which was really, unawesomely boring.

After a while, Elizaveta stood up to give her eulogy. It was profound, and sad, and by the end it had moved many of them to tears. Even the albino felt a lump in his throat when she finished. It was _that good. _When she resumed her seat, he squeezed her hand comfortingly.

After a few other people had spoken -including, surprisingly enough, Lord Vash, who Gilbert thought detested Roderich more than anyone else but him- Gilbert knew it was time to speak.

"So," he began, slightly awkwardly, "Most of you know that Roderich and I don't-didn't have a good relationship. That much is a given. But I'm not the type to come up here and bad-mouth him, ya know?"

A few scattered chuckles. Elizaveta stared at him as if she were trying to read his mind.

"So I'll keep it pretty brief." He took a breath and continued. "Roderich and I, we were always fighting, whether it be from something as trivial as me telling him to stop playing so loudly to him lecturing me after some friends and I...covered his room in a variety of...strange plants."

A green-eyed brunette smiled from the crowd, and Gilbert acknowledged him with a nod of his head. From next to him, a certain blond with long locks looked rather ill. Inwardly, the albino smiled, feeling no traces of regret for poisoning him. _He insults Elizaveta, he deserved it._

"We didn't always see eye-to-eye. But he was a good person, and I respect that." He took another breath. _"_Even if he betrayed the one woman who loved him most-" -there wasn't a soul in the palace that didn't know of the Austrian's 'suicide' - "I will remember him for the ridiculously patronizing, annoying, and brilliantly talented man he used to be." _  
_

Hesitant applause greeted that last sentence, but Gilbert felt light inside, having delivered his hidden message to the coffin being lowered into the earth.

_So you see, Roderich, she does believe you never loved her. You idiotic moron, you._

As the ceremony ended, a butterfly flitted gently down the sky to land on the fresh grave. It was a violet with a blackish sheen, the color of Roderich's eyes, and the kind of thing that sent shivers down his spine. _This is not a good omen. _Nobody else seemed to notice it.

Even after his faithful bird dove from the sky and scared it off, he still saw the butterfly wherever he went. In the drapes. In his room. In Elizaveta's eyes when she turned to kiss him lightly on the cheek for keeping her company for the funeral.

Normally that last kind of thing would've sent his heart racing, a flush crawling up his cheek, and that inchoate yearning would uncurl.

This time, it didn't.


	9. Chapter 9

**And this part (and what follows) is where it deviates from AilishMelodien's version. **

**Review! :D **

* * *

In his nightmares, he was never left alone. More and more nightmares, compounded, each time he jerked awake and fell back asleep, a worse one would appear, always culminating in that damned purple butterfly. As the days went by, he looked even worse than Elizaveta did. His face was pale and his eyes had dark shadows under them. He looked just as ill as Francis, if not more so.

It went to the point of just a lethargic apathy, lying on his bed with his eyes closed without moving. The butterfly would be there, he just _knew_ it, and that would push him over the edge. He'd seen it in his nightmares, just an ominous portent of impending...something. It terrified him, and that in itself scared him more than he could ever admit.

After the fifth day, his brother dropped by to see him.

Ludwig was a good brother, more responsible, more mature, even more muscled, and he always seemed the older of the two. Today his face was creased with worry under his slicked-back blond hair. "Hallo, brother."

Gilbert inclined his head, sitting up and daring to open his dull eyes. "Hallo."

Ludwig sighed and sat down on the bed, smoothing his coattails. "No point in beating around the bush. I'm worried about you, Gilbert."

The albino tried to laugh. It came off as more of a choke. "Me? What's wrong with me? I'm fine, Luddy, you worry too much."

Ludwig did not appear convinced. "Elizaveta's been asking for you, and Francis has taken ill recently-did you notice? Or were you just moping in bed?"

"I'm not moping." He meant that, though the fact that Elizaveta had been looking for him made his heart sing. "I just don't feel good." Mentioning that he was plagued by a butterfly didn't sound awesome, and in fact was just plain humiliating. Luddy would laugh, and nothing would get better.

Ludwig sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Listen, if Roderich's death is affecting you-"

"It's not him!" Gilbert exploded, sitting up straight with indignation. "I don't even like him!"

His brother looked skeptical. "I'm sure."

After a prolonged moment of silence, the blond sighed. "Listen, Gil, I'm still your brother, even if I'm busier now. You can tell me anything."

Looking into his brother's earnest face, the albino really did want to spill. Open up and tell his brother how he murdered the Austrian to get to Elizaveta. But no, that would undo an eternity's careful planning, so he pressed his lips together and said nothing.

After another moment, the German cast his eyes downwards, defeated. "All right, then. You can play your cards close to the deck. I don't care anymore." He stood and left, leaving the albino feeling as if he had lost something important.

After a moment of befuddled thinking, he grasped it; his brother.

He leaped to his feet, trailing silken blue bedsheets, and cried "Ludwig, wait!", all fears of the indigo butterfly forgotten. Gilbert lurched into the hall, where his brother had just stopped and started to turn around, his face an almost comical picture of befuddlement as the other embraced him.

"I'm sorry I'm not being entirely clear with you," said the albino honestly. "I'm just going through what is possibly the most difficult time of my life, _not_ because of that unawesome Austrian's death, but because...of a personal problem. Please don't take it personally, Luddy. It's just me."

Ludwig looked his brother up and down. He was disheveled, looked half mad, what with his tousled white hair and dark eye circles, but he was being completely serious, which meant something big was going on. If Gilbert wanted to keep it a secret, that was fine. It was none of his business.

He smiled at his brother and held up one hand. "Promise me you'll get up and act normal again."

The albino completed the gesture. "Pinky promise."


	10. Chapter 10

**Review! :D**

* * *

After Ludwig's intervention, things went back to normal.

Gilbert continued to prance around the halls, occasionally dropping by to visit Francis, who by now was so sick from the poison that his skin looked transparent, and offer falsely reassuring advice, though he wondered if he'd made a mistake by poisoning one of his best friends and killing that stupid Austrian. _I'd have gotten over her eventually...right?_

But he didn't have time to think about things like that, because most of the time he was walking with Elizaveta aimlessly through the palace. He enjoyed those walks. Sometimes they'd both chatter about nothing, and sometimes they'd stroll for long stretches of time without saying anything, arm in arm. He didn't just enjoy them, he _lived_ for them.

Today their meandering walk took them through the gardens. Bright colors and scents exploded out of the earth and the cracks between the butter-colored paving stones, and Elizaveta tugged him towards the tunnel of trees. Smiling, he obliged her, and soon they were walking through a shower of indigo blossoms. A butterfly fluttered at the corner of his vision and he looked away, focusing instead on the way the sun shot through her hair and turned it to gold. _She is the only thing that keeps me sane._

When he got back the courage to glance towards the butterfly, it was gone. His smile grew wider.

"So, I was thinking," said Elizaveta, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. Gilbert bent his attention on her. "Yeah?"

"I was wondering if you'd hate me if I tried this..." her voice dropped to a whisper and she stepped in front of him, raising herself up on her tiptoes to reach his lips and _this is happening this is really happening-_

Kissing those lips were better than he'd ever imagined. They tasted like honey, sweet and sugary and perfect, and he instinctively pulled her closer to him, returning the kiss with the pent-up fervor that had been bubbling inside him from childhood. Her fingers ran through his hair, and he wanted her so much he could barely think, barely breathe-

And then she slipped out of his embrace. When he reached for her, she took another step back, drawing both hands to her chest. _Did I do something wrong?_ he panicked. _What did I do?_

To his utter surprise, she started to cry. "I'm sorry!" she sobbed, turning her face away from him. "I-"

"Don't be sorry!" He stepped forwards and took her hands earnestly. "Not for that."

"But I didn't know..." she whispered. "I didn't know you actually loved- I swear I wouldn't have done that if I- I was pretending you were Roderich when I kissed you..."

For a moment the world went silent and still. Elizaveta's face knotted with anguish and regret, the sunlight shining warmth down through the gaps in the purple flowers, and the startling abundance of butterflies covering the downed flowers. _I was pretending you were Roderich when I kissed you..._

The world turned gray. His hands released their grip and dropped to his side, and he began backing away from her, hearing her calling his name only dimly, as if through a glass wall. His feet stumbled over the purple flowers faster and faster, crushing them, releasing their heady scent into the air. Butterflies took flight wherever he stepped, a wave of them rising up to either side of him, and then he finally turned around and ran away from her, away from the words. _I was pretending you were Roderich when I kissed you..._

He locked himself in his room, barring the door moments before Elizaveta reached it. "Gilbert!" she cried, nearly hysterically. "I'm sorry!"

Ignoring her, he stalked over to the balcony doors and flung them open with enough force to knock a painting off the wall. He stepped right to the edge and looked over it. The fall to the ground looked so inviting, and he was sorely tempted.

As if seeing through the door, Elizaveta called, "No! Don't do it, Gil!"

He tuned her out, her voice driving ever deeper the spike of betrayal and pain. _I was pretending you were Roderich when I kissed you..._

The gardens below were carpeted with butterflies that rushed up towards him, cresting in shimmers of purple and black.

He made his decision.


	11. Chapter 11

**Review! :D**

* * *

He heard the doors fly open, and he leaped.

Not down, but up. The butterflies dissipated around him, and he grabbed the elaborately carved decorations as he'd done so many times before. Sitting on the roof was a good way to clear his head. The cold, bright air would help him think, and when the wind blew sharp into his face he could let it blow away the tears that weren't actually there, or so he told himself.

When he pulled himself onto the roof, he was surprised to see someone else already there. For a moment, he thought it was Elizaveta, somehow teleported up onto the roof to haunt him, but no, as he looked closer, he noticed the woman's hair was too light, and her dress too dark, for it to be her.

Good. He couldn't stand to see her right now, anyway. _How could she?_

His attention was turned back to the woman on the roof as she spoke to him. "What do you want, Gilbert?"

With a little start, he noticed that she hadn't turned around. "Ah, Natalya, is it?" Lord Ivan's crazy sister. He wasn't sure what she was doing here, or what she was going to do. He gingerly sat down next to her, hoping she wouldn't push him off the roof, and gave her a sidelong glance as she responded.

"Of course it's me, you idiot. Who else would it be?" She turned and glared at him with her bright blue eyes. "Come to stare off the roof because of a broken heart? Speak your guilt into the wind?"

"My...guilt?" He had a sudden terrible fear that she knew he'd killed a certain Austrian, somehow could read what he'd done out of his words.

"Obviously. You think I don't notice when people suddenly die? I love that, I _liv__e_ for that."

His blood froze. "You...know?" Then he shook his head. "I mean, no, you must be mis-"

Natalya rolled her eyes. "You can't fool me. I was there when you killed him, idiot. You should be sure nobody's sitting in the darkness before you tackle someone and threaten them."

Gilbert wondered if he should just jump off the building then and there and save himself the trouble of being ratted out. Upon seeing his expression, Natalya snapped, "Oh, don't just stop and look like a pansy, if I were going to turn you in I'd've done it already."

"Wh-"

"I understand love too, okay?" Her voice went softer. "Just because people are afraid of me doesn't mean I don't love someone as well, even though it's forbidden." She wrapped a lock of hair around one finger and stared out over the palace grounds. "It's never going to happen, but I can't dream..."

The albino wondered about her mood swings, and also wondered who this mysterious person that she loved was. As long as he was here, he could ask her, and _maybe_ she wouldn't kill him...

"I can see you want to know. It's my brother," said Natalya flatly. "Shut up."

_Oh._ Well, that explained the 'forbidden' aspect of it. Gilbert had nothing to say, except..."The woman I love hurt me."

"I can see why." Natalya glared at him. "You never shut up."

He shot her a narrow glare. "It's not like I couldn't shove you off the roof."

Natalya leaned close to his face, her features icy. "Do it. I dare you."

He went to move his hands and found that there was a knife above his knuckles, so sharp that he didn't understand the red line until the blade gleamed. He lowered his hands again. "Touché."

"Mm." The knives disappeared back into their sheaths, and after a moment Natalya shot him a glare again. "If you try anything on me, I'll castrate you. It's not you I'm interested in."

"Don't worry." But to be safe, he scooted a foot away from her. Just in case.


	12. Chapter 12

**Review! :D**

* * *

"You know," continued Natalya, after a long silence in which he was afraid she was thinking about killing him, "You could always kill again."

He'd come to expect such weird statements from her in their brief conversation. "Why? Who?"

She rolled her eyes heavenwards. "Elizaveta, of course. That way you won't be troubled again."

"_Kill_ her?" Gilbert asked in disbelief, not bothering how to ask how she knew who he loved. "Why?"

"Weren't you listening? I _said_, that way you won't be troubled again. ідыёт." She slapped the back of his head. "Maybe I should kill _you_ and save your poor little brain the trouble of thinking."

"No!" He scooted further away from her until he was pressed up against a large stone gargoyle.

Natalya raised an eyebrow. "What, do you love it now? Abandoning your precious Elizaveta for that?"

"No!" He moved away from the gargoyle, but not so close to the Belarusian that she could reach him. She laughed nastily, and the albino found himself disliking her more and more. As if she could read his mind, she laughed again. "So you too are succumbing to my efforts to get rid of you? Ha. Good riddance." She bared her teeth at him in a smirk.

He ignored her as he climbed back down to his room. After checking to make sure nobody saw him, he dropped into onto the balcony.

Elizaveta was in his room, sitting on his bed and staring into nothing. She didn't appear to have noticed him yet, so he froze, wondering if he should go back up to the roof with Natalya. For all her faults, _she_ wasn't the one who broke his heart.

His mind said no, but his cracked heart pulled him to her. Even after her painful betrayal, he couldn't help but admire the ripples of her long hair, the way her amber and green dress clung to her figure. Yes, she was the one for him, despite-

_I was pretending you were Roderich when I kissed you..._

As he decided to escape back to the roof again, she said, "I really am sorry."

To his surprise, he said coldly, "I don't want to hear it."

Elizaveta stood, her face sad and a little bit angry. "I can't apologize if you don't let me! You're blowing this out of proportion."

He stood gaping at her utter stupidity and ignorance. "Why this is- Do you know how much- You really don't see it!" He paced to the other side of the balcony before speaking again. "You really think-"

The cocky, stubborn way she stood there and the defiant expression on her made his heart sing. It was hard to think, hard to put this feeling into words. He wanted to stride over to her, shake her back and forth, crush her to him and kiss her defiance into silence, wanted-

"Do you know how long I've loved you?" he finally erupted. "I've loved you since we were children. And yet you continue to ignore me, to shatter my heart, to be perpetually blind to my anguish! And you dare to say I'm blowing this out of proprtion?"

What he actually said was, "Get out of my room. I don't want to see your face." He turned away and folded his hands behind his back.

"But-"

"Go." His tone of voice brooked no argument.

He heard the shuffling sound of her dress as she spun around and headed for the door. Heard the latch click shut.

In his mind, Gilbert turned over what Natalya said on the roof. _You could always kill again..._

He could never kill her. Hell, he still loved her, even after all she'd done to his heart.

_Maybe I don't have to kill her. Maybe..._

His gaze settled on the little glass vial of cantarella.


	13. Chapter 13

**Review! :D**

**Is me putting the exact same message at the top of every chapter annoying? **

* * *

He knew what he was going to do. Once he'd thought of it, the idea had beat like a solemn gong throughout his head. It would be so easy. It was a fitting revenge. Not enough to kill her, heavens no.

Just enough for him, or, to be absolutely correct, enough of it for _her_. And, to allay any suspicion, he'd have to poison both drinks. It was a risk, a very big risk; if not actively used to counteract the passion, or not yard in the right amount, the other substance would be just as likely to kill him as cantarella.

And that would put a fairly large spanner in the works.

But as for now, he just had to wait for her to show up...

He'd been sitting by the table at the window -the window this entire thing began at- for seeming eternities, and she still hadn't passed by. He was impatient. He wanted so many things, and she just had to go and be late.

Gilbert knew it would all be better when she showed; he could never stay angry at her. Not even the shards of his heart, painstakingly slowly sewn back together overnight, could continue to rage at her.

He stared out the window and idly twirled a glass cup in his fingers. The vial of cantarella hidden up his sleeve moved and nearly uncorked, and he stopped it with one hand.

On the little planter of pale white flowers outside the window was a blackish purple butterfly. It was inches away from his face, the closest he'd ever been to one of them, and he was equally captivated and repulsed.

_It was only a butterfly..._Except it wasn't 'only' a butterfly. The sun shone on the violet wings for a moment, turning them bright and translucent. Two triangular brown marks appeared like eyebrows, and...

For just a moment it looked like there was the vengeful stare of an angry Austrian floating right there outside the window, captured in the butterfly.

The albino dropped the glass cup. His fingers stopped twirling, the cup hit them and flipped end over end onto the marble ground. When he bent to retrieve it, he saw it was unharmed but for a long scratch on one end.

And only _now_ did Elizaveta come down the hall, skirts trailing after her, and in a purple ripple of silk he saw the reflection of the angry eyes.

Feeling frantic now, he looked back at the butterfly at the window, and then in the reflection in the glass that tinted his vivid red eyes to the violet shade.

_Everywhere I go, he's always there. _

He glanced back towards Elizaveta, who increased her pace as it seemed like her quarry was going to escape. After yesterday's cold conversation, she obviously wanted a followup.

Gilbert understood that. He really did. If it was the same thing reversed, he'd want to make sure she didn't hate him either. Of course, he could never know for sure how the Hungarian felt...

The footsteps on the marble galvanized him. The Hungarian looked like an avenging angel, determined for him not to get away this time.

Of course, he had to remedy that. Forget the plan. He didn't have the nerve to deal with her anymore.

The albino sprang up so quickly he flipped the small table he was waiting at and fled down the hallway.

Behind him, he heard the advancing footsteps stop, and Elizaveta sank to the ground, head in her hands. "What have I done?"

Of course, she received no answer. The albino was long gone.

Outside the window, the violet butterfly caught an updraft and floated away, as if it had never been there.


	14. Chapter 14

**Review! :D**

* * *

He tried again the next day. And the next. And the one after.

But every time he saw Elizaveta coming down the hall, he couldn't help but to run. Every fiber of his being pulled away from her, as if the two of them were the same ends of a magnet. It was just a base repulsion, emerging from the heartbreak.

Except, of course, his heart was addicted to her.

For the umpteenth time since that day, he sat down somewhere in the castle. He knew Elizaveta would find him eventually.

As he sighed and brought his hand up to brush the white hair out of his eyes, the cantarella clipped inside his black sleeve brushed against his arm, a discreet reminder of his purpose. And he had to make this work.

Right around noon, he heard her coming.

He braced himself in his chair. _This time I'll do it. I'll talk to her and apologize to her and then I'll do it._

He heard the rustling of her skirts, somewhat like the sound of hundreds of butterfly wings as she approached. His hands tightened.

And then she swept right on past him, skirts flowing smoothly down her shapely figure, chestnut tresses tumbling down her back. His mouth almost dropped in surprise. _For days I've been waiting, and when I finally consolidate my nerve, she stops caring?_

_Just my luck._

She cast a glance over her shoulder that clearly invited him to follow, if he was going to talk at all.

He didn't want to talk all that much, but their friendship -even if it wasn't the perfect romance he'd fantasized about- meant a lot to him. Even if this plan failed, he wanted back the long silent walks through the gardens, before-

The albino abruptly stood and followed her, his footsteps nearly silent on the cold floor.

Elizaveta cut left, out through the hall his sin had been painted in before he'd painstakingly wiped the floor clean. Even now, his eyes darted around, searching for a stray slick of dried blood. He'd never seen any before, but it wouldn't hurt to check. It felt as if the hallway was irrevocably painted with blood.

There was a patch in the shape of a butterfly in the middle of the floor. He wondered how he could've missed it, and scuffed at it with the toe of his boot. A space of a blink later, it peeled upwards and flapped madly, careening directly towards his face. It looked demented, and the idea of Roderich turning the knife on him, _NEVER_ scratched into his chest, sped through his mind.

He nearly ran to catch up with his princess. Elizaveta had turned again, and was outside. With a sinking feeling, the albino anticipated where she was headed._ Not there. Not back there again._

But no, he saw the edges of her skirts glide over the underbrush littering the cobbles, and then he rounded the corner and she was there, sitting on a bench under the tunnel of purple flowers. _Why must she torture me like this?_

She looked away, skirts neatly folded under her, pretending not to notice his approach until the other end of the bench creaked. "Gilbert," she said in greeting, and the albino inclined his head. "Lady Herdevary."

At that, she whipped around suddenly, emerald eyes surprised and hurt. "Have we fallen that far? We used to be-" She dropped her head. "I ruined it, didn't I? We can't go back, can we..."

And the albino didn't know what to say.


	15. Chapter 15

**Review! :D**

* * *

Gilbert sat in awkward silence for a minute while Elizaveta hid her face with a curtain of hair. He was conflicted, each side tearing itself to bits.

There was what Natalya had said; _You could always kill again._

And then there was the love that had blossomed from childhood to the painful ache eating away at him now.

He was already a killer; Roderich's blood was proof of that, the butterflies, all of it. He knew he was a killer. He knew he could do it again. It was not something easily forgotten.

But it wasn't something he could do to her. She was the love of his life; he felt silly even considering it.

"Look," he said, voice rough, "I don't mean to hurt you now. I just want..." _You. I want you to reciprocate this feeling. All I want is you._

Elizaveta looked up, and her green eyes seemed to read those unsaid words. She said nothing, just reached up to brush her fingers lightly against a thin red line on his face, a scratch that used to be deeper, obtained running away. The light touch sent tingles through his skin, and he looked away.

"Can't we just start over from the beginning?" she asked softly.

"That's always the best starting point, isn't it?" he said, just as softly. Her hand didn't leave his face, and, carefully, tenderly, he placed his own hand over it, hoping against hope that she wouldn't move it away. His fingers barely brushed hers, light as a butterfly's kiss.

She pulled both their hands down and twined her fingers with his. "So is that a yes or a no?" Elizaveta looked up at him through her lashes.

"I don't know. Is it?" The albino offered a smile at her, and in response she squeezed his hand. The vial of cantarella in his sleeve was cold against his skin, and his smile faded.

Elizaveta obviously thought it was because of what she'd done a moment ago, and she began to pull away, her face closing off.

"Wait!" he said, capturing both her hands in his. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

There was no good way to answer that question, and he was_ not_ going to go with that infamous 'It's not you, it's me,' even though, in this case, it was the truth.

"Just a little thing," he tried, and Elizaveta looked at him, unconvinced. "If it's so little, then why won't you tell me?"

"Because...some secrets should never be told, you know?" Unbidden, the phrase brought back a faded memory of their childhood.

_The light seemed golden. Elizaveta was dangling her feet in an ornamental pond, not as cheerful as her normal self. _

_"What is it, Lizzie?"_

_"It's nothing."_

_"Really now." The albino took off his sandals and plopped down next to her. "What kind of nothing makes you so sad?"_

_"Leave me alone." _

_The albino was hurt. "What did I do?"_

_"It's not you."_

_"Then why won't you tell me? Did I make you mad somehow?"_

_Elizaveta turned away from her friend's earnest face. "No. It's just because some secrets should never be told, you know?"_

From the look on her face, Elizaveta was obviously remembering that too. She put a tired smile on her face. "I'm sorry, Gilbert. For everything."

This time, he knew she meant it with her whole heart. He squeezed her hand tighter. "So we build upwards from here?"

In answer, she stood up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.

He'd never smiled so wide before.

Inside his sleeve, the cold glass against his skin spoke to him, and in the cloudy sky, butterflies circled overhead, but he ignored them. This warm need, this _wanting_ inside him, that could sustain him endlessly, and the warmth of Elizaveta's hand in his could only be matched by the warmth of her body pressed against his, their lips meeting in a kiss, and...

Even though he had his darling angel, he wanted more.


	16. Chapter 16

**Review! :D**

* * *

A drop of water fell from the sky. It landed on Gilbert's face, looking like a tear. It couldn't have been more ironic, for Gilbert was feeling happier than he'd been for a while.

Elizaveta was sitting next to him, holding his hand, and he was happy, and the big tangle of emotion wrapped up in him loosened just a bit. Just enough for his true feelings to shine out, and he knew, without a doubt, that he wanted more.

He looked up, seeking the water's source, just in time to get another drop in the eye. He made a face and blinked it out, and Elizaveta laughed at his expression. Then it was the albino's turn to laugh as a raindrop nipped the end of her nose.

"Do you think we can shelter under the flower tunnel?" asked Elizaveta, peering up at the cloudy sky.

"I think we'll be fine," he reassured her, but just to be safe, they both moved farther under the tunnel. Violet blossoms nestled in their hair, and then they felt they'd reached a safe distance inside they smiled at each other and picked the flowers out. The albino closed his eyes at the feeling of her slim fingers sliding through his hair.

It started to rain in earnest then. Ropes of water knocked the air full of blossoms, and the wind rattled the knotted lattice of branches above them. In no time, water was leaking through their makeshift shelter and gusting at them from either side.

"Run for it?" asked the albino, indicating the palace doors. It'd only been raining for a few minutes, but already the sky was black with clouds. It looked like nighttime, but for the hastily lit lanterns in their glass prisons. It was a very bad time to be out.

Elizaveta bent and took her shoes off, splashing her thin feet in the cold puddles on the cobbles before hiking her damp skirt up around her waist, completely unaware of how Gilbert was admiring her tanned legs and the paler stripe at the top of her thigh where the light hardly ever hit. When she turned to offer an affirmative, he met her eyes and smiled. "Race you."

A devilish expression stole over her face. "You're on." Before Gilbert could even offer a retort, she was off like a shot into the windy darkness.

"I didn't say go yet!" he shouted, barreling after her at full speed.

Once he was out of the tunnel, the wind hit him from the side. It was a formidable force, and the rain carried with it pelted him like rocks. Squinting his eyes against the driving rain, he made for the line of lamps illuminating the gardens. A flash of skirts caught his eye, and he put his head down and sprinted for her. _You'll not win again. _He smiled wide, almost feral, against the rain.

With a lot of effort, he managed to increase his speed, boots slipping and sliding over the slick cobbles until he finally pulled steady next to her, legs tiring.

Elizaveta looked at him out of the corner of her eye. The wind was raking through her hair, sending it it flapping like a semaphore flag through the air behind her. Her expression was one of surprise before she pumped her legs for an extra burst of speed.

Out of the semi-darkness came a short metal fence. Elizaveta hurdled it with ease, but Gilbert, clumsy in his soggy clothes, jumped a moment too late, got his feet caught on the ridges, and took a header into a flowering bush. Getting to his hands and knees, he spat out vibrant red petals, and saw Elizaveta a few paces away, her hair dancing. "_Ó, a francba_, are you all right?" She knelt next to him and pressed her hands to his forehead.

_If you keep touching me, I'll be more than_ fine. He didn't say that, though. Instead he sprang to his feet and charged forwards, to the safety of the door no less than twenty feet away. "You always fall for that!" he crowed, and angled himself towards victory.

Behind him, Elizaveta started to look annoyed, shook her head, smiled, and then proceeded to pass him in the last five feet, much to his indignant surprise. "Hey!"

In the safety of the dry hall inside, she proceeded to gloat in her victory, heedless of the water dripping off every surface and puddling on the floor. "I won! I won!" she exulted while the albino squeezed water out of his clothing. "You always win."

Elizaveta spun towards him, her features arrayed in a smirk. "Yes, but that doesn't stop me from gloating." She flourished her hand. "How does defeat taste? You always get to taste that bitter morsel, and-"

"Well, you get to be rewarded!" Gathering his courage and that flaming ball of longing, he turned and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. That effectively shut her up.

Fearing she was angry, he shrank back a little bit, but she slanted her green gaze to him, a smile kissing the corner of her lips. "So soon, eh?"

He had no idea how to interpret that. Perhaps sensing his apprehension, she grabbed his hand. "Come on. You're going to treat me to dinner."

"I'm-_I_ am? But we're both soaking wet! A-"

Elizaveta looked down at herself, and the albino suddenly noticed how the soaking wet material clung to her shapely form. "It's only a little water." She sighed. "But even water is not allowed in the upper circles, eh?" She shook out her hair, fingers unconsciously checking for her flower pin, which was dangling for dear life under her ear. "I'll meet you back here in ten minutes, okay?"

"Don't be late!" he called, already ascending the stairs, unable to suppress the growing grin._  
_

_Now is the time to do it._ He fingered the vial in his sleeve, which miraculously hadn't broken during his fall earlier.

_I love you so much, Elizaveta. I must have you. _

A butterfly flapped behind his head, and this time, he let it be.


	17. Chapter 17

**And this update is so late. Sorry.**

**Review! :D**

* * *

In exactly ten minutes, Gilbert was waiting by the stairs.

If anyone had been watching, he would've seemed confident, but those who knew him better would note from the tapping of his fingers on the balustrade and the way he kept glancing around him.

He was indeed nervous. This was like a date, sort of. And that by itself was worrying enough, without the added bonus of what he was planning to do...

He tugged fitfully at his sleeves, trying to pull all the creases out of them, and when he looked up, there she was, descending the stairs and smiling at him.

His breath caught. _She's so beautiful...especially in that dress..._

She'd been beautiful before, but this sent his brain into freeze mode.

The lavender part of the dress was cinched in at the waist and flared out to demurely cover her feet, while the rich emerald overlayer was somewhat like a jacket or a shawl, wrapping around her lower arms like a ribbon before covering her hands as gloves. Her hair cascaded down her back, curling gently above the emerald and lavender silk. Those two colors didn't seem to match, but on her...

"Speechless?" she teased once she reached the ground floor.

"I am indeed," he managed, mentally whacking his brain back into a functioning state.

Perhaps taking pity on him, Elizaveta held out her arm. "Will you escort me to the room, dear sir?"

"Do I get paid?"

Elizaveta bit her lip in a deliberately provocative manner. "You'll see."

Gilbert quickly took her arm and said, "Then I shall gallantly escort you to the room," and she laughed.

He felt a warm glow kindle inside him. It'd been awhile since he'd heard her laugh.

_And that was your fault,_ a voice reminded him, but he ignored it.

In the room, their faces lit by romantic candlelight, they ordered their meals. The albino nonchalantly put an arm around her, and felt his heartbeat quicken when she took his hand.

_This is like a pleasant disease,_ he thought to himself, a smile curling the edge of his lips. _If only she knew what she did to me..._

A cheerful, ponytailed man came out of the kitchens. "Here is your food, aru. I hope you enjoy it." He smiled at them before retreating to the kitchens.

The albino smiled at Elizaveta, and, slightly curious, she smiled back. "Why do you look so happy?" she inquired.

A handful of indigo butterflies fluttered in the flowers at the center of the table as he answered. "I'm glad to see _you_ happy," he replied. Taking advantage of the fact that she was momentarily speechless, he reached out to his glass of wine, and then over it to grab hers, intending to drink it.

"Hey!" she said, mock-indigiantly. "Get your own!"

Gilbert obediently picked up his own glass, and raised it in a toast. "To the most beautiful woman here."

"I'll drink to that." Elizaveta lifted her own cup. They clinked their glasses and tipped them up to drink the red fluid. Gilbert watched the curve of her neck, golden in the candlelight, and then silently counted down in his head. _Ten, nine, eight..._

Elizaveta put the cup down and frowned. "This wine is a little strong." Her words were slurring. _Six, five, four..._

"Gilbert, what..." She tried to push herself to her feet, but her legs gave out under her, and she fell backwards. _Three, two..._

Feigning concern, as if he didn't know what happened, he quickly walked around the table to her, cradling her head and back. "Lizzie, what is it?"

Her eyes closed. _One._

* * *

**I'm going to thank every nation that viewed this story in September, when it was just a plot bunny. *inhales* **

**Thanks to the US, for the astonishing 1.07k views! Next up is Canada with 149 views, and then we have the Philippines, Australia, Germany, Belgium, the UK, Singapore, Indonesia, the Netherlands, Hungary, Thailand, Honduras, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Taiwan, China, Romania, Spain, and last but certainly not least, Greece. Thank you all for viewing, even if not all of you reviewed! I appreciate it. :)**

**For those of you who know the actual song Cantarella, it's going to get much more...y'know. Soon. Very soon. **


	18. Chapter 18

***puts off the inevitable***

**Review! :D**

* * *

People all over were watching as Gilbert tried to rouse Elizaveta. He had to fake the performance, as he already knew what had happened to her.

It had been easy.

Slip a pinch of cantarella into his glove, let it slide out.

_Easy._

He couldn't help feeling a tinge of guilt as he looked down at her still face. _What if this was a bad idea?_

His resolve banished the doubt. He'd waited years. He couldn't wait any more.

But first, he had to get them away, spirit himself and his love out of the room.

A few people had started to come over to help, and Gilbert knew that this would make the wait even longer. He finally appeared to give up, setting the chair upright and slumping Elizaveta in it before barging into the kitchens angrily.

The kitchens were warm and full of steam and enticing aromas. Curiously enough, all the workers in the kitchen were black-haired men and women with similar features. He assumed a family had gotten drafted for the position. As he watched, a woman with a long braid shouted in another language over to a solemn-looking young man with rather thick eyebrows, who in return tossed over a satchel of spices. It looked, at the same time, both very organized and very chaotic. Organized chaos.

Knowing he had to keep up the façade, he yelled, "Where's the one who served us?"

All the eyes turned to him, and after a moment, the one with the braid called, "_A__nh trai_!"

The ponytailed man bustled out from a back room, his arms piled high with sacks of rice. "Eh? What is it, aru?" With a thump, he deposited the sacks on the ground. "Oh, it's you. What's the matter? Did you not like your meal, aru?"

"What is your name, so I can report you to King Arthur for attempted murder by poison?"

The man looked affronted. "I poisoned nobody, aru!"

"Your name," Gilbert deadpanned.

"Yao Wang."

"What type of wine was it? Elizaveta may have been allergic to it."

"Eh, it was..." Yao raised his eyes to the ceiling, and then turned to an excited looking man with a hair curl. Yao barked out an order in the unfamiliar language, and the other man rifled through his pockets, finally pulling out a piece of paper. He read it. "Eh, _trockenbeerenauslese, _da-ze_."_

Gilbert raised a brow. Trockenbeerenauslese was incredibly expensive and one of the best wines out there. He was sorry to have ruined Elizaveta's glass with cantarella, but it was necessary.

"All right. I'm keeping an eye on you." With that cryptic statement, he left. The yearning inside him was a bubble about to pop.

He strode back out of the kitchens, pushed through the crowd of people -almost everyone in the room was standing, aside from a man sleeping on the back tables- surrounding Elizaveta, and proclaimed, "I'm going to take her to her rooms for air."

His comment was met with nods and well-wishes. A cheerful, auburn-haired young man offered to help, and Gilbert politely declined, sounding calmer than he felt. He scooped Elizaveta into his arms -she was so light- and made for the darkness beyond the doors.

The indigo butterflies followed him, and he ignored them completely. _Let them come, _he challenged. _They can do nothing to me._

By the time he'd ascended the stairs, he was leading a wide swath of undulating indigo wings, so thickly packed together that they probably could've carried items on top of them. More butterflies joined all the time, until it was as if they were a cloak fastened to his shoulders, swishing with each movement. They swarmed over his shoulders, crawling onto his vest like decorative pin.

None of them could touch Elizaveta, cradled in his arms.


	19. Chapter 19

**I've been somewhat dreading to write this chapter...so that's why it's pretty late.**

**Review! :D**

* * *

Elizaveta lay absolutely still on the Prussian blue sheets. Her eyes were closed, smooth skin pale, hair arrayed around her like rays of the sun.

She was perfect.

Gilbert lay next to her, overcome. _Finally...__after all those years, I have her._

Butterflies rustled at his window, completely blocking out the light, but he could still see her, see his darling, precious Elizaveta. Her arms were folded across her chest, and, as if it were a second thought, a silky blindfold of the same shade as the sheets was hastily wrapped around her head. It was just a precaution, as he didn't expect her to wake, but it was better safe than sorry.

He'd swallowed a small pill, the antidote, before he drugged both their glasses of wine. It seemed to be working, as he didn't feel any lingering exhaustion or numbness in his extremities. He'd had to force the pill through Elizaveta's lips, sealing it with a kiss. That's about as far as anything he'd ever done to her.

All his plans had come to fruition in this moment. The months of planning...it'd been almost half a year since he'd started thinking about this, actually _thinking_ about killing Roderich, and four months since he'd killed the Austrian. A month of being haunted by butterflies and nightmares, two months of solitary walks with his love, a month of avoiding her, and then...

_Now_.

Galvanized by the thought of their time slipping away, he turned back to her and reached for the stays on her dress. As he did so, he relieved a sudden flush of memory.

_Age six, when they first met each other, shooting the other curious looks from behind their parents' tall forms. They'd never seen each other before, and while their parents had some boring adult talk, she'd crawled over to him. _

_"Hi."_

_"Hi," he responded, turning to face her. "Who're you?"_

_"My name is Elizaveta Herdevary. What's your name?"_

_"Gilbert Beilschmidt." _

_She giggled. "That's a funny name."_

_Miffed, he stuck his tongue out. "_You're_ a funny name."_

_That had been the start of a long friendship._

The albino felt a bit guilty at their lost childhood. _Is this what I've fallen to now?_

He looked down at the recumbent angel under him. _It's worth it._

Gilbert began to unlace the stays, each thread exposing just a bit more of her flesh. As if determined to make him lose his nerve, the memories piled up again and elected another to send forth.

_Ten years old, and they were intrepid explorers of the deepest depths of the gardens. No corner would go unseen, no stone wouldn't be overturned. They were on the quest for treasure! _

_It was a bright and sunny day, and they two of them were digging an __inconspicuous hole behind Lord Ivan's prized sunflower patch. As in, Elizaveta (or Lizzie, as he was permitted to call her at this point) was digging, and he was mooching around, lying in the shade and poking at the sunflowers. _

_"Come on!" complained Lizzie. "I'm tired, and you haven't done any work yet."_

_"You're digging with a frying pan," said the albino, more to himself than her. Then he propped himself up on one arm. "Why are you digging with a frying pan?"_

_Lizzie grabbed his ankles and yanked him into the hole. For a moment, he landed awkwardly on top of her. They both didn't move for a moment before Lizzie rolled out from under him and said, "Get to work, slave!"_

_They both dug in companionable silence. After ten minutes more, in which the hole had deepened considerably, Lizzie's frying pan struck something with a clang. _

_"What is it?" exclaimed her friend excitedly. "Did you find something?"_

_"Ah, it's probably just another rock." Still, she turned over the dirt curiously. Something glinted in the sunlight, and before she could think to move, Gilbert bent down and snatched it up._

_"Treasure!" he crowed, holding up a dirty string of glittery beads. "I found it!" _

_He yelped as Lizzie elbowed him in the stomach and snatched the beads out of his hand. "Again," she said sweetly, "the victory goes to me!" _

_A moment later, neither of them were smiling. They were on the farther reaches of the garden, more towards the wild zone where people kept their exotic pets. _

_The hole was damp and muddy, and suddenly it started filling with water. "Ack! I'm too awesome to get wet!" _

_A huge, serpentine head burst out of the ground, and it knocked both of them onto their bottoms. _

_An Earth-snake. Lord Arthur's favorite, to be precise, named Wyrsa. Wyrsa was known for his short temper and intense hunger. When he turned his slitted yellow eyes on the two children, they froze, thinking themselves about to be devoured._

_Lizzie suddenly leaped to her feet, swinging the pan like a baseball bat, delivering a solid _thwack_ right to the middle of the scaly forehead. The Earth-snake cast about, dazed, while the Hungarian girl scrambled up the sides of the hole. "Come on!" She held out her arm to Gilbert, who was having less luck climbing out. He wrapped his fingers around it, his other hand holding the beads. _

_Escaping from the scene of Wyrsa's rage, they ran screeching into the castle, speaking of Earth-snakes and faintly of treasure.  
_

_"Lord Ivan is not going to be pleased," said Lizzie, watching the Earth-snake wreak destruction upon the hapless patch of sunflowers._

_"Here." Gilbert's face was set, and he offered her the beads. "You saved me, so you get to keep them." _

_Lizzie was surprised. "Really? For me?" She pried the beads loose of his fist. "Thanks, Gil!" She flung her arms around him._

_That was when he'd first started falling in love with_ her.

_Stop_, he ordered his memories. _I've committed to this. There's no going back._

His hands trembled and fumbled the black thread, his red eyes looking surprisingly liquid. _I don't regret this. _As if to prove it to himself, he bent and planted a butterfly kiss to her forehead, lingering for an extra moment, her skin cool against his lips. The glimpses of skin up her side were tantalizing, inviting him to unlace more. Those chocolate brown tresses he loved so much were like silk against his skin.

This was perfect.

_Time passed. The two families had drawn apart, beginning with a minor feud over Roderich was chosen as Elizaveta's husband-to-be, but instead of objecting, like he'd expected, she thought it was okay. She was _happy_ to be with the Austrian snob, and drifted more and more away from him. _

_One day, he'd clumsily tried to express his feelings, cornering her and planting an awkward kiss on her lips, in the hopes that she would reciprocate them. _

_She had not appreciated it._

_With a slap to the face and a string of Hungarian curse words following him, he'd fled the scene, his eye dark with unshed tears of embarrassment and rejection. But what hurt worse than that was the expression of incomprehension, and even _worse_, revulsion on her face. _Am I that disgusting of a human being that even my best friend doesn't want me?_ He'd run to his rooms and refused to come out for a day, and then avoided Elizaveta at all costs._

_That had been the end of their friendship until he'd gotten up the courage to approach her again, years later, and give her that black dress she looked so stunning in. She'd accepted the peace offering, and things went back to normal, sort of. _

He trailed kisses along her cheekbone and down her throat, feeling the little pulse bouncing there, and then buried his hands in her satin hair, pulling her closer to him, supporting her limp body and sliding the dress down over her shoulders. Not too far, but just enough to bare her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. Her skin was cool against his, which was feverishly warm. He'd never wanted anything, anyone, _quite this much_- the feelings twirling inside him were enough to make him burn with desire.

_Racing her inside in the rain, the gusts and sheets of water blocking his view, and then the way her perfectly formed body, draped in soaking silk, made his breath catch and his mind freeze, and she laughed and picked the flowers out of his hair with perfect, slender fingers._

He folded his own fingers between those of hers, and with the free hand pushed the dress down still farther, wondering how far he'd dare to take it, wondering how far he _could_ take it before she'd wake.

She made a little moan in her unconsciousness, and curled slightly tighter to herself. It was an adorable sound that pulled his heart. He wrapped her in his arms, warming her skin, and she nestled against him. Her dress had slid halfway down her back, and she was facing away from him. If he moved, just a little, he would feel-

His doubts and misgivings flooded up, washing away the tide of pure love and desire and happiness he'd felt just seconds ago.

This was perfect, he had thought.

But it didn't feel perfect.

* * *

***tries to ruin the mood* If any of you know what author I borrowed the name Wyrsa from, you get a cookie. :3 **


End file.
